


Your Name in My Teeth

by EmeraldHeiress



Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blow Jobs, Blow Jobs With Teeth, BruJay Week, Cunnilingus, Daddy Kink, Don't copy to another site, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Female Jason Todd, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Jason Todd is Robin, Parent/Child Incest, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Dick Grayson, Self-Worth Issues, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Table Sex, Underage Prostitution, Undercover, Undercover Missions, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:01:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23061370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmeraldHeiress/pseuds/EmeraldHeiress
Summary: She'd done it before, she could by god do it again. Even if it lost her the family and the home she'd gained. She'd do it for Bruce.Because, really, she'd do anything for Bruce.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 28
Kudos: 157
Collections: BruJay Week 2020





	Your Name in My Teeth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daemoninwhite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daemoninwhite/gifts).



> For Ell and Dae... because they are a pair of awful _enablers!_
> 
> A very late offering for BruJay Week: Day 1. Undercover Mission
> 
> The sexual assault tag is for a brief like two-sentence non-explicit mention very very late in the story.

“I can do it.” Jay called casually as she fine-tuned the exhaust on the Robin-cycle. It was being particularly stubborn. She really had to concentrate to get that last bolt in place. After a moment, she realized the chatter in the Cave had gone silent. She popped her head up. 

Bruce, Dick and Alfred were all staring at her. 

The hair on the back of her neck rose. “What?”

“You most certainly can’t!” Dick bit out.

Offended — who the hell was he to judge her ability — she rose and advanced, holding a wrench in her hand like a weapon. 

“I _absolutely_ can, Dick Grayson. I know all the moves!”

Going undercover at a strip club would be a peice of fucking cake for her. Something Dick couldn’t say. She would prove it!

“You tell me what the call signs are when a patron gets too drunk! Or show me a Shooting Star on a pole, Dickwing! I still know my old routine. I can prove it! I can do the job!” 

How dare he question her skill? He didn’t know shit!

“Your old routine?” Bruce ground out through clenched teeth.

She nodded once, eyes focused on the disbelief on her big brother’s face, “My old routine. Was up on stage to help feed mama and me. Three nights a week. Same club. They would probably even remember me and let me in, no problem. I can do it!”

“Little wing...” Dick’s voice cracked and he trailed off, looking between Alfred and Bruce helplessly.

Jay huffed. 

“Miss Jay.” The old butler started, he had that unusual look on his face. The one that told her she’d said too much. The one that said she was _wrong_. “You were so _young_ , my dear.”

It hit her.

This… She looked between them, taking in Dick’s expression for the first time. Taking in Bruce’s tightly restrained rage. 

Oh.

_Oh._

She’d fucked up.

She’d fucked up badly.

He hadn’t been questioning her ability at all. He’d been telling her she was too young. Too young to _dance_. And if she was too young ~~to dance~~ now… at fifteen… 

How much “too young” had she been at ten?

Ice crystallized in her stomach and inched its way up her spine.

Could she… could she recover from this? Play this off? ~~Keep the rest of it from spilling out and baring itself on the floors of the Cave?~~

Her eyes darted from Dick, still struck speechless at her admission, to the pained look on Alfred’s face, to the leashed fury on Bruce’s. Yeah, no… There was no coming back from this. Well, in for a penny…

Jay took a breath and squared her shoulders, “I can go undercover at the Sphynx.”

“If you think you’re getting within a hundred yards of that club,” Bruce told her, voice like gravel, “then you’re very mistaken.”

“I can handle myself.” She stated, keeping her voice calm even though her heart was in her throat and her stomach around her feet. “I know the club. I know the people. I know the work. I’m your best bet, B. Let me help.”

“ _No_.”

“Not with this, Little Wing.” Dick seemed so apologetic. 

It was almost surprising to find genuine anger flaring to life in her chest. She wasn’t a child! She knew what she was doing. She could help this case. If they were going to keep her off of it purely because of her age when she had the experience and connections to actually gain some momentum...

“This is bullshit! I can do this. You’ve taught me to take care of myself. You taught me all these skills. Let me put them to use!” Yet, a part of her was relieved. If they were focusing on her frustration — on her lack of participation — maybe they’d forget. 

_Maybe a snowball would last a day in hell._

“I said _no._ ” 

His tone was dark and final as Bruce rose from the chair and stepped toward her. She almost flinched before remembering where she was, who she was with. He cupped her cheek and she leaned into the contact.

“I would never put you in a place like that.” His blue eyes were intent as they bored into hers. “Never, Jaylass.”

Lips brushed her forehead and he stalked into the training room — the one with the heavy duty punching bags — leaving her speechless and staring after him. Something tight in her chest twisted.

Dick placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. She turned to him but he just shook his head and followed.

What the fuck was she supposed to do with that?

———————————————

Three weeks later and they still hadn’t made any breaks in the case. Jay had finagled her way into compiling the information on the club for them, at least. Making sure that Bruce and Dick had what they needed… and only what they needed. 

She couldn’t take watching them fail again.

Jay honestly didn’t know how they expected to get one of them inside. The club was peripherally owned by the Kosov family. Minor league mafia. If you weren’t _family_ or a dancer, you weren’t getting in. She knew they were relying on getting one of them placement as a bouncer or a bartender but that just wasn’t going to happen.

Normally, they’d have moved on by now. Picked a different target or a different point of entry. She didn’t know why they were being so tenacious about this one. There was more than one way to skin a cat and more than one way to bust a drug ring.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. It didn’t matter. She knew what she had to do. What they needed her to do. The bus hissed and jerked to a stop and she steadied herself against the bar. With a nod to the driver, she stepped off and onto the Alley. 

A wave of nostalgia overcame her as she scanned the street. Christ, how long had it been since she’d walked this pavement? Not as Robin but as herself. She didn’t think she’d been back to the area since she’d wrecked Ma Gunn’s heist. She scratched her neck and vaguely hoped no one connected her to that or it might screw with her plans. 

She picked at the sleeve of her denim jacket as she scanned the street. It hadn’t been easy, finding clothing that would match the area again. Bruce tended to be a little absurd when it came to providing for her. She’d had to take a couple of after school trips to the thrift store to get what she needed to blend in. She didn’t want to imagine what Alfred would think when he found her Alley clothes, carefully buried at the back of her closet.

It was three blocks to her destination. She quickly got on her way. Loitering was not exactly the best idea in this end of town, especially for a girl her age. She couldn’t resist the smirk that curled around her lips as she walked. They could try, of course… the gangs that thought they ran the Alley. They wouldn’t find her an easy mark.

Jay shifted the bag on her shoulder as she approached the club, music leaking out from the doorway and spilling onto the sidewalk even this early in the day. A glance told her that the bouncer at the door was unfamiliar. Not really a surprise. It had been a few years, after all. 

She walked up, putting that extra twist to her hips she’d been taught long ago, and smiled. Better to start off _friendly_ if this was going to work. 

“Nickolai in?”

A hand lifted standard black sunglasses — so cliche she almost rolled her eyes — and gave her a once over. He grunted and opened the door for her. With a nod and a flirty grin she slipped inside, bracing herself for what she knew would greet her.

The stench of alcohol was overwhelming and the bass of the music thrummed to her bones. Happy hour, then. 

It was… it was almost comforting as she walked in… to see how little had changed. How much things had stayed the same. 

She wondered, briefly, if the club hadn’t been shut down when a pipe burst — if she hadn’t been forced to other means of survival for _months_ — would she still be here? Would she ever have stolen Bruce’s tires? Become Robin?

She heard Nickolai before she saw him. His loud booming laugh carrying over the pounding music. That way then. She eyed the current dancers in curiosity as she picked her way through the tables. Looking to see if there was anything new in their routines. 

Finally, she laid eyes on the man. He hadn’t changed much. A little more grey in his hair, maybe. He was still the big bear of a man he had always been. 

He looked up as she approached, confusion playing in his lips but an appreciation in his eyes. That was good. She’d picked these clothes to highlight certain features. Features she knew he’d find appealing.

“Who are you, pretty bird?”

Jay smiled and cocked her hip, “Been a long time, Nick. I’m not surprised you don’t recognize me. I used to dance.” Her eyes flicked to the door beside the stage. The one that lead to the back rooms and office. She’d spent most of her time behind them, on private room stages. On backroom couches. Her age standing out too much on the main dance floor.

Greedy eyes raked over her and she suppressed the urge to fidget. Something twisted in her stomach. It made her want to frown, like the look from the bouncer. She’d expected this; knew what coming here was going to entail. Knew that Bruce and Dick needed to make this bust. 

She had felt eyes like that on her too many times to count. It was a part of the work. A part of what she was trying to entice. So why was that look bothering her?

She pushed it out of her mind as his face lit up in recognition. “Jay Todd?”

Jay nodded, thankful that the closed adoption meant her new family — her new status — wasn’t known. A gleam entered his eyes. One she wasn’t sure she liked.

“My darling, it is good to see you! What can Nickolai do for you?” 

He leaned forward, over his folded hands, and stared at her hungrily.

“I need a job.”

The grin that stretched across his face was predatory.

———————————————

It was a bit unnerving how easy it was to get back on the pole. 

She’d seen other dancers return from long breaks before. It always took a few weeks to work up their conditioning and stamina but Jay had an advantage they didn't. One she wouldn’t be sharing. The few questions she did get she brushed off. Yoga, she found, covered a hell of a lot of sins. 

Nick had her working on a new routine. Her old one was great — for the body she’d had then. She’d filled out a lot since and it was a chance to emphasize different areas. 

It was almost fun. She enjoyed the physical challenge, even if she could do without the ogling hoards. It was… more difficult than it used to be to put them out of mind when she was under the lights. Bruce’s face kept flashing through her mind. 

A thin layer of sweat made her skin shine as she dismounted from the pole, more from the heat of the lights than the workout. She smiled at Katie, one of the older dancers, as she handed Jay a water bottle. 

“Jay!” She blinked and turned towards the voice and Nick motioned her over.

“What’s up?” She asked when she got over to him.

“Got your costume today.” He smirked at her.

“I thought I had to provide my own outfit, Nick.” She stated, wary. One of the things she liked was the ability to control what she wore. She already had her outfit ready.

“Normally, you’d be absolutely right.” He nodded, his accent thickening with excitement. “But we’re starting a theme thing and I know money is tight.” He leered as he slipped around her and put his hands on her waist, circling it with his fingers. “I think I got the right size.”

She nearly jumped at his touch but was able to hold herself still as he kept his hands on her skin. Her pulse spiked. A deep breath. She was fine. One hand gently massaged her hip.

Warm breath tickled her ear as he asked her, “Wanna see it?”

She nodded, suppressing a shiver. There wasn’t really any other option.

Chuckling, he motioned to one of his men. A garment bag was retrieved and its zipper opened. Red and green stared at her accusingly. A pair of yellow heeled boots were laid next to them, canary bright in the dim light of the club. Jay nearly choked on her tongue. The irony!

“Your stage name will be Robyn.” A rough finger stroked down her cheek. “See how it fits.”

Like a glove.

It fit like a glove.

———————————————

Bruce suppressed a grimace as he motioned to the waitress. He had never been too fond of these establishments, even in his more wild youth. One never knew what they were sitting in as they slid into the sticky booths. 

Matches Malone settled back as she walked over, her green vine covered outfit contrasting with her dark red wig. 

“Hey darling.” She grinned at him, red lipstick painted in a customer service smile. “You can call me Ivy. What can I get for you?”

Christ, they’d themed the costumes. He hoped Pamela never heard about this. The last thing he needed right now was a botanical takeover of Crime Alley to deal with.

“Can I get a bourbon, sweetheart?” He asked, hating the words even as they fell off of Matches’ lips.

“You bet, sugar. Make it a double?” She winked.

“You know it.” The fake mustache tickled as he grinned at her. 

The music shifted and the stage filled again. He refrained from rolling his eyes as the canned fog drifted across the slick wood and the lights strobed to the bass. He kept a passive eye on the girls as they sashayed to their marks but scanned the rest of the room for the targets he was actually here for. 

It shouldn’t be this hard to get someone undercover in a strip joint. Yet, the club seemed to rely exclusively on members of the Kosov family for their non-dancing workforce. The bouncers, the bartenders, the cook, the busboys… all of them were _family_. Low tier but still family.

The girls did double duty as dancers and servers and the manager only hired female dancers as far as he could tell. 

It was a nightmare.

Though, he supposed that meant safety for the club and its staff.

Matches spotted a couple of higher members of the family and settled in to watch their conversation behind his glass. It was the best they could do for now until they found another lead or another way into the club. 

Bruce hoped something cracked soon. He hated setting foot in this club. Every moment in it made his skin crawl after what Jay had accidently revealed.

The thought of her, so young, up on that stage and dressed like the women there now. All those eyes watching her? 

His jaw cracked. 

Bruce took a deep breath and let it go, relaxing his shoulders and clenched teeth. His eyes flitted over to the stage again, squinting just a bit to see through the haze of the lights.

His eyes stuttered over a figure in green, yellow, and scarlet red. 

Oh. 

_Oh no._

He couldn’t stop the rush of blood south any more than he could stop the sun’s path across the sky.

He knew immediately that it was her. Buried in his subconscious. ~~Perhaps not as deeply as he would like.~~

Bruce would know her anywhere — no matter how much smoke clouded his view or the shadowing effect of the lights flickered across her features. Yet, there was just enough distance — just enough interference — he could lie to himself for a moment. He could tell himself it was another girl. Some barely-legal teen trying to pay for college. Tell himself it was alright to look. 

To leer. 

To _drown_ in her image. 

He was at a strip club. He had to keep up appearances, after all.

Music thrummed, the baseline vibrating through his bones; overpowering everything around him. Blinding him to everything but _her_.

Then, she wrapped her arms and legs — powerful, muscled, scarred legs ~~from running after him on rooftops, from fighting rogues in alleyways and warehouses~~ — around the silver pole and pulled herself up, curling into it before allowing herself to bend backwards… until her hair pooled on the stage and her spine was a flawless arch. 

~~All he wanted was to be that pole.~~

The lights steadied across her face and he saw her, saw her bright blue eyes and he couldn’t lie to himself anymore. 

It was Jay. 

He was so hard he ached with it.

———————————————

_Dance classes._

She’d told him ~~Alfred~~ she was picking up dance classes a few nights a week after school. None of them had thought anything of it. It had been three weeks since then. 

Had she been coming here that whole time?

His eyes followed her as she made her way around the tables, her wine red lips split in a false smile. They called for her across the room. _Robyn_. He wanted to _rage_. Rage at the man that hired a fifteen-year-old ~~ten-year-old~~ to dress in a mockery of a vigilante’s outfit and sell the idea of sex to a bunch of drunk men.

Still, he couldn’t keep his gaze away.

The green satin hugged her form better than anything Bruce had ever seen on her. It was a play on the earliest Robin costume, when Dick still wore his acrobat’s leotard. Scalloped with black lines. Ruffles mimicked the skirt of her present suit. Almost sheer scarlet fabric cradled her breasts, a golden _**R**_ stood out over her heart. Canary yellow heeled boots rose to her knee, completing the costume.

He was lucky she wasn’t wearing a mask. 

He’d be angry about the costume if he didn’t know that she would never put her identity at risk like that herself. Given the other themed costumes, Ivy, Harley, Catwoman, it was a short jump to determine that it wasn’t her idea.

She turned his way and Bruce nearly swallowed his tongue. Her hair and the lights must have hidden it before.

A yellow collar circled her neck.

The bat symbol — _his symbol_ — was starkly done in black. Directly in the middle of her throat.

She was going to kill him.

He tore his eyes away and stared into the brown glass of his beer bottle, bourbon finished long ago. His jaw tight as he focused on anything but how much he wanted to taste the leather of that collar — feel it give under his teeth.

Jay passed him with a tray of empty glasses, a sway in her hips he had never seen before. He almost reached for her — trailing a hand along the bare skin of her waist as he pulled her into the booth to ask what the hell she thought she was doing — but he didn’t.

When she came back the other way, when he had himself under control again, he said her name.

“Robin.”

She froze, reacting to the tone he used — the one just for her — but only for a second. When she turned around, she was as loose limbed and confident as she’d been when every other patron had called for her. The smile on her face was brittle. 

Matches Malone arched an eyebrow at her.

“When you get a moment, darling,” he drawled, eyes boring into hers, “I’d like another beer.”

“You bet, Mr. Malone.” She vanished before he could say anything more. 

When his new drink appeared, a single slip of paper was tucked between the label and the bottle. A list of names. 

He lifted the bottle to his lips.

It went down bitter.

———————————————

Jay slipped into the manor and her room on silent feet that night; ducking security protocols and Alfred. It wasn’t easy but the last thing she wanted was to run into Dick or, god forbid, Bruce. She knew it was inevitable that they would find out eventually. That they would come into the club — see her. 

She still hadn’t been ready for it.

To hear her name called over the dull roar of music and conversation… it sent a shiver down her spine.

But the list of names she’d handed Matches Malone today was more than Bruce or Dick had been able to come up with in the last six weeks. It was worth it. For this case. For them.

She showered as quickly and quietly as she could, washing the stench of alcohol and sweat and lust off her skin and slipped into bed. She had to be up early if she wanted to beat Bruce out of the house. 

Jay was asleep before she’d even closed her eyes all the way.

———————————————

Bruce watched on the monitors as Jay slipped through the miniscule holes in the security — holes left open for exactly this purpose — and into her bedroom window. He checked the time. 

Green numbers flashed **03:27**. Blinking at him in the dark of the cave.

He forced himself to stay where he was. Paging through old reports, updating profiles, checking the status readings of the equipment.

When an hour had passed, he allowed himself to rise, his feet taking him upstairs and to the door of Jay’s room. He placed a hand on the wood, wishing not for the first time, that he had Clark’s powers. That he could see through the material and right into the room beyond. That he could hear her heartbeat. Know that she was alright — safe — with only a thought. 

He should leave. He should walk down the hall and go to bed. But he needed to see her. Needed to see her as _herself_. Not as Robyn — as a mask. Needed to see her home.

Fingers grasped the brass of the handle and silently turned it. The door swung open, mute on well-oiled hinges. 

Her breath was even and slow.

The faint scent of the honey mint soap she loved hung in the air and moonlight spilled in from the window onto her face.

She was alright. She was home at the manor. 

Not in the Alley. Not in some dirty club.

Something tight in his chest released as he looked at her — safe in her bed in the manor. Under his roof.

His precious girl.

The door shut silently as he turned away.

———————————————

Matches was back at Sphynx the next day. Jay had slipped out before breakfast and he hadn’t had a chance to speak with her. Until he talked her into withdrawing from the club, someone needed to be there. To make sure she was alright. To give her an ally.

He refused to acknowledge the grumbling growl in his chest. The one that roared when he thought of other people — other men — staring at her all day. Other eyes looking at the silver scar on her back, where she tripped and nearly fell off a roof her third time out as Robin, the birthmark on her shoulder, the mole on her knee. 

The academy had let out forty-five minutes ago. Knowing how resourceful Jay was, he could expect her to show up soon. Even half a city away.

Bruce's attention turned as he caught sight of her coming in from the back, the manager trailing behind in a huff. A large blond man named Nickolai. Peripherally related to the Kosov family. The same man that had been running his own little kingdom of a club for the last ten years. 

“Why the fuck not, Robyn?” His voice was loud and gruff, his accent thick with annoyance. “All the girls work the back rooms. _All_ of them. You're the only one that isn't. I've been patient. I've given you time to settle back in. But you're losing me money, pretty bird.” He grabbed her arm and she whirled on him, fingers clenched at her sides. 

Bruce narrowed his eyes as he watched, ready to intervene. He would do whatever he could to protect Jay. Even if it meant losing his oldest persona. 

“I’ve told you, Nick, my old man won't like it. I can't be a back room girl.”

Back room? Bruce frowned. What kind of back room? Nothing in their reports said anything about a back room. Their reports only talked about the main stage and a handful of small side rooms used for lap dances. Their reports… their reports that Jay had put together... 

_Oh, she didn't_.

The implications. Back room. Bruce could put the pieces together. He knew what it meant.

“Oh, pretty bird…” the manager leaned in, crooning, “your old man doesn't need to know.” Nickolai trailed a hand up her arm and shoulder before tracing her collar bone. “It'll be just like _old times_.”

The sound of breaking glass hit him before he noticed the pain. The bottle in his hand shattered under his grip as fury flared to life within him. 

Jay’s eyes shot up, locking with his, surprised to find him sitting there. He could read her sudden fear. Fear not of Nickolai. 

Of him. 

Of what he’d just heard.

Fear of rejection. 

It hurt to know that even after all this time she still doubted her place with them. With _him_. To think that burrowing out any more of her dark past would make them think twice about giving her a home. Make them think twice about loving her.

There was nothing on this Earth — in this galaxy — that could make him stop loving her. 

She tore her eyes away and muttered something to the manager, pulling him back the way they came. Back to the back of the club. 

His stomach turned.

——————————————

“Let’s talk about this off the floor, Nick.” Jay said, pulling her eyes back to the man in front of her and trying to push the sudden anxiety turning in her stomach out of her mind.

“Yes.” He purred. “ _Let’s_.”

Within moments, they were in his office. Nick spun her and pressed her back against the door, his hand splayed on her bare belly. Her breath hitched and her heart jumped into her throat.

“Nick, _don’t_.”

He ignored her.

“Now, pretty bird… You _will_ start taking back room clients.”

“I can’t!” 

Jay took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. What would Bruce think?

“If you can’t take back room clients, then what the fuck are you doing here?” He leaned in, his hand rising, skating along her ribs and toying with the fabric of her bra.“You know the dancing is just advertising, Jay. You’ve always known that, even when you barely left the private rooms yourself. When you didn’t have to advertise. Why come back if you weren’t prepared to do the work, hmm?”

“I-I…” She cut off as he slid a knee between her thighs. _Shit_.

“I’m calling your bluff. You know what this is, you wouldn’t be here otherwise. You want to negotiate… so, let’s negotiate. What do you want?”

What did she want? She wanted to find the information and evidence on the drug trafficking that Bruce needed. That’s what she wanted. She wanted to slip into her shower at the manor with its endless hot water and _drown_ in it. 

“Hmm, pretty bird? Do you want the blue room? Do you want to set your own prices?” The alcohol on his breath made her dizzy. “Do you want to pick your clients? Do you want a bigger cut? Because I can work with that.”

What could _she_ work with? If she played things right, she could buy herself some time and put limits on what she had to do. What worked best for that? Bruce flashed through her mind but she pushed the image away, anxiety humming under her skin. They needed the information... ~~and she would do anything for Bruce.~~

Nickolai slid down the strap of her lingerie and covered her breast with his hand, tweaking her nipple with his thumb.

She swallowed the lump in her throat, “I want to set my own prices,” voice almost a whisper, she continued, “and I want a bigger cut of the profits.”

“That wasn’t so hard.” He murmured in her ear. “Now, pretty bird, _convince me_.” 

She closed her eyes for a moment, as his head dipped and his lips found her neck. This was familiar. She… she knew this. When she opened them again her hand moved of its own accord, slinking down Nick’s barrel chest and deftly unbuttoning his counterfeit armani pants. 

He groaned in her ear as she stroked down his length. Vaguely, she remembered what he liked, the best way to get him hard and get him off. Clumsy fingers fumbled at her bra, pulling it down and creeping over her breasts. 

“You grew up good, pretty bird. Do you still remember everything?” 

His hand shifted to the back of her head and pushed her down. She went, folding her legs under her as she dropped to her knees. Everything felt just a little fuzzy around the edges as she pulled his erection free. 

Fingers tightened in her hair as she took him in her mouth. The salty taste of him overwhelmed her. She’d forgotten. How could she have forgotten? She gagged as he bucked his hip and thrust into her throat but she only needed once to remember. When he did it again she was ready and swallowed him whole.

Nickolai groaned and held her there, hand buried in her. Her eyes watered as she clenched her fists on his thighs. When he released her, she carefully breathed through her nose as she worked him with her tongue. The musk of his scent was heavy in her nose and the taste of him bitter on her tongue. With careful fingers, she squeezed and twisted the base of his cock. 

_It’s all in the wrist, honey._ The line flitted through her mind, out of nowhere. Something Jay remembered hearing when she first started at Sphynx. She couldn’t remember who had told it to her now. She wasn’t sure it mattered. 

She breathed.

Muscles under her hands began to tense and Jay doubled down, swirling her tongue around his tip, but he pulled her off with a grunt. 

Nikolai dragged her to her feet and pushed her down over his desk. Jay clutched at it in surprise, spreading papers haphazardly as she went.

“I bet you’re just as tight as you used to be.” 

Nickolia pressed his hard length against her, grinding into the cleft of her ass.

“Pretty little thing like you. All the yoga you do.” Nails scraped her hips as he tugged down the green panties. A finger probed her folds.

“Nick?” Her voice shook.

She didn’t know what she was asking for. For him to stop? He wouldn’t. She didn’t expect him to. This was the price he demanded for her request. This was the price she was paying. 

She should have asked the cost. 

“Oh, don’t worry, pretty bird.” He slid a finger inside her, slick from his mouth. “I’ll take care of you.”

She bit back a gasp. The snap of a bottle barely caught her attention, like moving through water. Cool liquid dripped and he was pressing in and in and _in_. The burn of stretch as her body moved to accommodate him made her whimper.

“Oh, so tight. Just like always.”

Jay dug her nails into the wood as he snapped his hips into hers. It made her eyes water and her throat sting. She blinked and breathed, turning her gasps of discomfort into something pleasing for Nickolai’s ears. She learned years ago that men wanted to think they were good — the best — at this and to soothe their egos. 

As he grunted behind her, she let her eyes roam and her mind drift; finding something else to concentrate on. Faint music from the main floor tickled her ears. Notes lay scattered across the desk, in chaos from her earlier struggle to get a hold. Something caught her eye.

_Shipment delivery - Warehouse 6_

The scratch was followed by a stream of numbers. Jay studied them, not really thinking anything of it; a way to focus her attention. Her concentration was interrupted.

She cried out as he grabbed her hips and pulled her onto his cock. 

“That’s it, girlie.” Nick groaned above her. “Take it all.”

He grunted as she clenched her muscles around him, well past ready for it to be over. Hips moved faster, deeper within her. She whimpered.

“Yeah, you like that, sweetheart?”

She didn’t remember him being such a fucking talker. Jay tightened around him again and again, working him as he fucked into her. She needed this to end.

“Oh, god, yeah, I knew you liked it.” Nickolai panted, hips bucking erratically. He came with a groan, burying himself in her and collapsing over her back, only keeping from crushing her with the support of an arm. 

She shivered as droplets of his sweat hit her back. A callused palm travelled the length of her spine.

“I knew we could come to an arrangement.” 

He nipped at her shoulder before leveraging himself up. Jay hissed as he slipped out of her. She took a breath and rose on shaky legs. Gingerly, she pulled her panties and bra back up.

She’d — she’d have to clean up. She looked toward the door. It seemed so far away and things were a little bright.

A grunt had her turning back to Nickolai. He held out a package to her. Green, gold, and white, wrapped in cellophane. Newports. She took them automatically. 

“Keep ‘em.” He smirked. “I know how you used to like ‘em.” A gesture to the door. “Go get cleaned up and get ready for your set. I’ll put your name on the menu.”

Jay just nodded. She felt almost weightless as the heels of her boots left the wood of the floor, one after the other until she was at the door. Was it only three steps? It felt like more. She slipped out. On autopilot, she headed to the back and the alley behind the club. Ancient habit controlling her feet. 

She slipped on one of the robes kept by the door and stepped outside.

A breeze swept through the buildings and down the street; she felt the chill in the sweat on her skin. Her cheeks tingled and she wiped at them. Smears of mascara and eyeliner came off on her fingers, wet by tears. She hadn’t realized she was crying. Hastily she dried her cheeks, wiping the stains on the black fabric of the robe she wore.

Christ, what was wrong with her? She was fine. 

The plastic crinkled as she tapped out a cigarette. Shaky hands put it to her lips and a click of a lighter later she took a drag.

_It burned._

God, it burned. 

She coughed and took another drag. 

She hadn't had a cigarette since six months after she started living at the manor. It hadn't exactly been conducive to the type of exercise she'd been doing running around as Robin. She'd forgotten why she had started smoking in the first place. The taste lingering on her tongue was a brutal reminder.

With each cloud she blew out, watching the smoke rise in the lights of the alley, she felt a little more grounded, a little more herself. With each drag, the taste of menthol and cheap tobacco eliminated everything else. 

It burned her mouth when it hit the filter. She stubbed it out and lit another. 

——————————————

She didn’t see Matches Malone the rest of the night but she felt the weight of his gaze. After her set, the word had spread that she was on the list. She could be bought. The rest of her night was booked out solid, save for two more turns on the stage, under the lights.

Nickolai had been incredulous when she’d told him the prices she wanted to set. 

“Pretty bird, I see what you’re trying to do.” He lit a cigarette and blew smoke up in the air. “You’re in for a surprise when you realize that right now… when you’re fresh and pink and so so _young…_ people are going to pay for it. And you better be prepared to offer them something _worth_ their money.” 

He smirked, “Keep your prices. I’ll enforce them. But don’t try to wriggle out of it when someone buys into your hype.” He slapped her ass and pointed to the door. “Your dance card is filling quickly. Get to it.”

She hoped he was wrong.

Jay closed her eyes and thought about the look on Bruce’s face earlier. 

Her stomach turned. What could he be thinking? Knowing, now, every dark secret buried in her past. She couldn’t bear the thought of looking in his eyes. Of seeing the pity. The rejection. Couldn’t bear the thought of tainting the manor. ~~Tainting _Alfred_~~. Bringing the filth — the sweat, the semen, the sex — she was covered with into the home she loved. 

But there were safehouses. Stocked with clothes and food and supplies for all of them scattered around the city ~~around the world~~.

Then… then she wouldn’t have to see the look on Bruce’s face.

She wouldn’t be sullying anything. ~~Especially not him~~.

——————————————

“I thought you quit.” 

Nightwing slipped in the window of the dark safehouse as she flicked the butt of the Newport out the other side. He followed it with his eyes as it arced toward the pavement below.

“Yeah, so did I.” She muttered low, obviously not meant for him but he caught it anyway. He frowned. Louder, she said, “What you want, Dickhead?”

“Can’t I just come see my baby sister?” 

_His baby sister who had sneaked into a strip joint undercover against orders. Who had updated the goddamned case file remotely with information about a warehouse deal that he desperately wanted to know how she got. His sister who was, for some reason, hiding in a safe house and refusing to come home. Who was all alone in an apartment in one of the worst parts of the city._

She glowered at him as she walked by, headed toward the bathroom. 

He sighed, “Come home, Jay.” 

_Let us take care of you._

“Not until the case is over. I’m not letting Bruce pull me out when I’m actually making progress.” He could read the tension — the lie — in her body. She turned and looked at him, arms wrapped around herself. Dick couldn’t help but think that she looked younger than ever. “You can see yourself out. I’ll switch safehouses tomorrow.”

“Jay!” He reached for her and she flinched.

 _Flinched_. 

Dick had never withdrawn so fast in his life. 

“Little wing?” 

Her eyes stared at him, eyes wide and uncertain, like she didn’t know why she had done that, either. 

Her expression shuttered.

“Get out, Dick.” She said again, harsher than ever. 

He went, sliding open the window again and preparing to step through. 

As he turned to say goodnight, she flicked on the bathroom light and reached for something in the cabinet. His gaze caught on finger shaped bruises blooming darkly on her hip where her night shirt rose up.

He couldn’t breathe. A knot of anger and anguish burned hot and bright in his chest at the sight. 

Who?

Who dared?!

She turned to look at him, a glare catching on her face, and he spotted another mark — dark and red — on her neck. The wood under his hand creaked with the stress of his grip. 

“Go away, Dick!” She ordered, looking tired.

He went.

But only because he didn’t know what else to do.

Nightwing sat on a roof across from the apartment, relearning how to inhale. Someone… someone had hurt his baby sister. But… but she…

Throat burning, Dick clicked on his comm. “B.” He swallowed, “I don’t know how to say this…”

——————————————

Jay rushed to the bathroom, pulling her hair out of the way just in time to lose her dinner. Her eyes watered and her throat burned. She coughed and spat, wishing for a toothbrush.

She stifled a sob, closing her eyes and breathing through the urge.

After a moment, flushing as she did so, she rose. She rinsed her mouth at the sink, running the water cold. A few small sips soothed her roiling stomach. 

_Training_ , he’d said.

Their faces had looked hopeful, underneath that base level of suspicion innate to all those raised in the Alley.

Because she’d had practice. 

Because she’d been where they were.

Because _she’d come back_.

Not one of them was older than she had been when she first walked through the doors of the club. All of them living on the streets or might as well have been, if the state of what they had come in wearing was any indication.

 _Training_.

She had some time, then. Time to get them out. 

Her stomach twisted again and she swallowed against the rising bile. Jay didn’t understand her reaction. She knew — had been in the same situation and made the same decision. She didn’t get why the thought of them doing the things she did — was doing — made her so upset. They had the right to make the same choice.

Didn’t they?

She shook her head. They wouldn’t have to. She’d... She’d fix it.

She’d fix it. 

Twenty minutes later, false smile plastered on her lips and belly warm with pilfered vodka, she sat at a table with three young girls watching her warily. 

“First lesson: make up.”

Their eyes grew wide and excited as she pulled out her collection of drugstore cosmetics — bought just for this job. 

It was almost… fun… watching as they did each other’s faces. Learning how to blend and apply eyeliner. They started with serious styles, worried about what they would be using _on_ _stage_ , but soon devolved into crazy color combinations. Giggling and telling each other secrets.

Before she’d realized, over an hour had gone by. 

And she was being called.

A client. 

Leaving the girls to their practice she checked her lipstick and her outfit, making sure Robyn was in place, and entered room 3. Her heart beat a little bit faster when she saw the group of mafioso leering at her, a cloud of alcohol practically hanging over them.

Lips curling in her most seductive smile, Robyn strutted to the single person stage at the end of the room. Already, she saw hands moving toward their flies. The music started and she knew... was going to be a long night.

Her jaw throbbed already. 

——————————————

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. It was the first thing Matches noticed when she flashed that stage smile at him. The empty one. Her eyes rested everywhere but his; flitting behind him, to the stage, to the table, to the glass she set down…

His gut turned.

Dick was right.

He wanted to reach for her — scoop her up and leave, to hell with the case and Matches Malone’s identity. She was more important.

But absolutely any infringement on her autonomy — on her _consent_ — right now… any move to _make her_ do anything… would cause more harm than good. 

A tumbler of whiskey, Glenlivet 12, was placed before him. Sat artistically on a napkin. Three ice cubes resting in the amber liquid. He didn’t order it. 

“On the house, sugar.” She winked at his chin and sashayed away.

He frowned and lifted the glass. Carefully hidden between the layers of the cocktail napkin was a thin sheet of paper with an address four blocks from the club and a time two hours before closing. Bruce’s belly turned to ice. 

Glenlivet 12. Three ice cubes. Three little girls.

He had some arrangements to make. 

Bruce looked up. His eyes tracked Jay across the club as she made a round of the tables then back again to the back rooms. Fingers tightening around the glass, he glowered. He hated this; having to sit by while she did god knows what in that back room. 

A vision of Jay, in that awful mockery of a Robin costume, flashed through his mind. On her knees with her pretty lips wrapped round a cock — smearing Revlon Bombshell #046 down the shaft.

He closed his eyes and tried to banish the image.

If he kissed her, would he taste another man’s cum on her tongue?

He hated himself for the thought.

A beer settled on the table and Bruce almost jumped. Christ, how had he missed someone approaching? Matches looked up. 

“Smoking isn’t she, our little Robyn?” The manager smirked, looking at the door she had just slipped through.

“Yeah,” Matches cleared his throat and nodded, “Yeah, she’s quite a looka.”

Nickolai looked at him for a moment, a friendly grin on his face. “Would you like to get to know her more, my friend?”

Bruce leaned forward, a thought tickling at the back of his mind.

“What do ya mean?”

——————————————

Nickolai was right. 

Jay had thought — hoped — that by pricing some _services_ cheaper and pricing sex so high that she could hold out until they were done. Maybe she could still be worthy of — of something. Of….

No. Who was she kidding?

Street trash — _whore_ — like she was, she wasn’t worthy of anything. Never had been. She had only been fooling herself, fooling Bruce and Dick and Alfred, by pretending. By lying. By hiding. She’d never been good enough for the manor. For Robin. For Bruce. 

For the Wayne name.

Robyn faked a breathy moan as the hand of her client — Chris he’d said but it was fake, no man ever gave his real name to his whore — fumbled its way into her panties.

Jay was proud she had been strong enough to refuse the Wayne name when Bruce offered… There was no way she could ever have forgiven herself for sullying it. Taking it as she was then would have been bad enough. Having it now — tainting it further — would have been downright unforgivable. 

Calloused palms spread her thighs and she turned her head to the side as lips sought hers, letting them fall on her neck. With a grunt, he was in her. She dug her nails into his shoulders and reminded herself to breathe. 

Silently, she begged forgiveness from the ghosts of Martha and Thomas. For lying to herself — to their son for so long. For dirtying their shining manor and legacy.

Hopefully it wouldn’t take much to cleanse of her after she was gone. 

Her client panted in her ear, moving within her with each thrust of his hips. She gathered all of her experience — all of her training — and put it to use. After all… she needed to make a new name for herself. A new reputation. 

She couldn’t… she wasn’t going to be able to go home. 

Robyn whispered filthy words into her client’s ear as he fucked her. All the things he wanted to do to her. All the things he _could_ — if he paid the right price. 

A dark sense of satisfaction stirred in her, mixing with the mess of everything else, as he shuddered and came. She nibbled his ear, riding out his weak rocking into her body with his softening erection.

He panted against her neck, “That was worth every penny.” 

She had never left a client unsatisfied. 

——————————————

Nightwing watched as Jay moved around the safehouse. He had watched as she walked ~~home~~ there from the club after getting off. He’d watched as she’d made herself a sandwich. He’d watched as she methodically removed the layers of stage makeup. 

He hated this. 

She needed to be home. At the manor. Where they could take care of her. ~~Bundle her up in blankets and make sure she was okay.~~ Not self-exiled to a run down safe house in the worst part of the city. 

It didn’t matter that it was where she was from. It didn’t matter that she knew these streets better than them. That she could handle herself blind. She wasn’t _safe_ _at home._

Hours before she’d left the club, he’d met and rescued ~~What else would you call it, Bruce?~~ the three little girls. The three little girls that had just been hired as _dancers_ at Sphynx. 

They hadn’t known ~~like Bruce, like Dick~~ that more would be expected of them. They hadn’t known it wasn’t just dancing. 

Dick wondered when Jay had found that out. How old she’d been. How scared. He couldn’t help but see her, twelve years old when Bruce had caught her stealing his tires, staring out at him from the face of those three little girls. Their shock. Their betrayal. Their pain.

Their _acceptance_ when they thought they didn’t have a choice.

Once upon a time, that had been Jay. 

Fury was not an unfamiliar emotion for Dick Grayson. Some days it was a difficult one for him to control. Still, he managed. Somehow.

But when this case was over… he wanted some time with the manager of that club. Just him, a locked room, and his escrima sticks. 

Until then, he would watch. He would wait. He would help how he could. 

She was his little wing.

——————————————

Jay took two sets on stage with a round of serving between the next day before Nickolai sent someone to inform her she had a client. Matches had been startlingly absent throughout the evening. She… She couldn’t help but be a little hurt about that. Even if she expected it. Even if she just been waiting for Bruce to realize everything she already knew.

That didn’t soothe the ache.

The end of this case couldn’t come quickly enough. It would be better for everyone to just get it all over with. A clean break. 

It… She would miss them.

Swallowing the sting at the back of her throat, she pasted on her most sultry smile and slinked to the back rooms. With a knock — a courtesy more than anything else, whoever was in there knew she was coming — she entered room 2. 

Her breath caught in her throat.

_What. the. fuck._

Blindly, she shoved the door closed. The crack as it slammed into the frame echoed through the hall but that was fine. Noises louder — and distinctly filthier — than that were frequently heard and the beat from the floor would muffle most of it. No one would pay any attention. 

Smile held stiffly in place, she hissed, “ _What are you doing?_ ”

“Did you think that we — that _I_ — was going to just let you keep getting hurt, Jaylass?” 

“No one’s hurting me.” Sliding over to the minibar, she deftly mixed an old fashioned and poured a finger of vodka. She slammed back the russian liquor ~~she desperately needed~~ before turning around.

“ _Jay_.” 

Disapproval laced through her name. Like it fucking mattered. 

Still, the warning sent a shiver up her spine. She ignored it, moving toward the man sitting on the leather couch. She made sure to put that extra sway into her hips, just like she’d been taught. A part of her revelled in the way his eyes followed her movements before tearing themselves away.

“Bruce.” 

She handed him his drink and perched on the arm of the couch, draping herself artfully. His eyes swept over her.

“You’re a fucking idiot.” She breathed through bared teeth.

“Because I want to protect you?”

“Because you’re here without a fucking _disguise!_ Where’s Matches?”

“In my bag.” He murmured, looking at her. Studying her. “There’s cameras?”

She huffed a laugh. A single, sardonic puff of air. Of course there were cameras. 

Nickolai was a fucking idiot. Who recorded illegal prostitution? Illegal _underage_ prostitution? At least he was smart enough to erase it and he didn’t try to keep it for blackmail… that she knew of. That was something she should probably look into actually.

Fingers brushed her shoulder and she suppressed a wince. 

“No one’s hurting you?” He stated, darkly.

“I’m fine.” She would be. 

“Come home, Jay. Please.”

She couldn’t. And her heart ached with it.

“The case isn’t over.”

“Fuck the case.” He growled.

She blinked, surprised.

“I want you home. Not here. I want you safe.” He continued. “The meeting at that warehouse is tonight. Dick is setting up surveillance for it right now. You’ve done whatever job you think you had, Jay. Come home.”

“Jesus.” She whispered, sliding to her feet. “Just. Stop, Bruce. _Stop_. We both know better. You know I’m not going home.”

“What are you talking about, Jay?” 

She could feel the heat from his body as he moved to stand behind her but she couldn't read the tone in his voice. She only knew that he was fooling himself or maybe striving to. Didn’t _want_ to admit it. 

But _she_ knew. She wouldn’t go back. She couldn't. Life didn’t work like that. 

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fucking _fair_ for him to dangle it in front of her like this. To pretend that she could have it all back. To pretend that she hadn’t lost everything the minute those godamned words came out of her mouth six fucking weeks ago. That she hadn’t been there on borrowed time in the first place.

“ _Stop_.” Jay shook her head, voice thick with emotion. “You _know_. You know as well as I do that this is where I belong. This is it for me.”

“You can’t tell me that you want this.” Bruce’s gaze was intent. Almost wounded. “You can't tell me that this —” he ran a gentle finger over the marks on her arm, “ _means_ something to you.”

“Of course it fucking doesn’t! It doesn’t mean anything!” She laughed harshly, like it was torn from her throat. “It’s never _meant_ anything. All it ever is is a _price_. Sometimes it’s a smile and a few pretty words. Sometimes it's a dance. Sometimes it’s a blow job in the back room of a strip club.” She breathed, calming herself, realizing her voice had gotten louder with each word. 

“Sometimes it’s a seedy manager and an auction you don’t find out about until someone is holding you down and telling you he’s paid for it. But hey, we ate for a month on that money, so it’s fine.” 

A look of horror flashed across Bruce’s face and he reached for her. Jay shook her head and stepped back. She didn’t want his pity. She didn’t need it. It had paid the rent for two months and they ate well for the first half of it on that windfall alone. It had been _worth it._ That’s what mattered.

“I’m getting information we need. I don’t have anything _left_ to be tainted so you can stop acting so concerned.” She turned away, “And we both know that I can’t go back to the manor. Stop lying to me. Or to yourself.”

Before Jay moved more than a step away, she found herself tugged around and in Bruce’s arms. His lips claimed hers and she gasped in surprise. She clutched at the lapels of his blazer, overwhelmed by the sudden feel of him; of his kiss. The desperation, the desire, the swirl of things she couldn’t name. 

No one had ever kissed her like that. Fingers threaded through her hair, palms cradling her face. Like she was precious. She found herself responding.

When he pulled back, blue eyes stared into hers. 

“You are not tainted, sweetheart.” A thumb swiped gently below her eye. “You _will_ be coming home. You _belong_ in the manor. Not here. Not in the Alley.”

She felt bare. Raw. Exposed.

“Bruce—”

“You belong with me, baby girl.”

“You want me?” 

That would be… but did he? Or did he _want_ her?

“Of course I do, Jay.” He grunted, like it hurt. 

She wondered how much it cost him to admit that.

“But never — Jay, I don’t want anything you don’t want. Ever.” He trailed a thumb down her cheek. “Sex isn’t… It’s not a transaction. It’s emotion. It’s love. It’s not payment and service. I want to show you what it’s supposed to be.”

She could… she needed… Jay’s head spun as she scrabbled for control. For something to hold on to. This hadn’t gone the way she’d expected it to. The way she’d needed it to. Bruce didn’t actually want her. He _wanted_ her. Once he’d had her, though. Once he’d had her he’d let her go. Like he needed to. Whether he admitted it or not.

Jay breathed, mind spinning. She could salvage this. Show him she was right. He didn’t actually — _couldn’t_ actually mean it and… and she had a job to do. Bruce had paid for her and the camera was rolling. 

“Bruce, kiss me again.” Threading her voice with practiced invitation, she lifted herself up, pressing her lips to his. With a bitten off groan, he did as asked. _Shit_. Her head swam and Jay realized she should have picked a different strategy. 

A kiss shouldn’t affect her this way.

“What are you doing, Jay?” Bruce murmured as she unclasped his belt. “Jay?” 

She knelt, looking up at him, and cupped his erection.

His expression was torn. “Jay, don’t.”

“B…” She rubbed him and he stifled a groan, “Let me.”

“Do you want to?” His eyes and voice were intent on her as the question left his lips.

 _Did she want to?_ What kind of bullshit question was that? Jay nearly rolled her eyes. Want never factored into any of it. Even now. Bruce or not, he had paid and Jay had never left a client unsatisfied. He was going to get what he _wanted_. ~~She was going to show him the truth.~~ Slipping her hand into his trousers, she ran a thumb over his length. A hand grasped her wrist gently, stilling her action. 

She looked up at him. “Do you want to, Jay?”

Oh. 

She could play this game. She knew the steps well enough. Jay gazed up at him through her lashes and twisted her lips into a coy smile as she pulled his erection free. 

“Of course I do.”

Before he could say anything else she took him in her wet mouth, halting any further objections. He moaned and she couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at her lips as she swirled her tongue around the tip of him, gathering the salty precum and swallowing it down. 

“ _Jay_.”

She bobbed her head and took more of him in, squeezing the base of his cock with her fingers and drawing another noise from his lips.

He… wow, he was _big_. 

Bruce was easily the biggest man she’d ever seen. She thought she’d keep that observation to herself. Save some of his ego. She was going to have trouble taking him all in. but she’d do it. Hollowing her cheeks, she sucked, pleased when a little of his vaunted control slipped and his hips bucked.

The velvet soft feel of his skin under her hands was surprisingly enticing. She teased, running the pads of her fingers over his base and carefully massaging his scrotum.

Jay started to get a rhythm going, bobbing her head to the music trickling in from the dance floor. Bruce’s hand tangled in her hair, lightly resting on the back of her head. She kept a thread of attention on the hand and arm — waiting for him to tense, waiting for him to push her head down onto his cock. She had to be ready or she would be sick. 

But he never did.

Something shattered outside the door and she startled, accidently nipping her teeth along the vein of his length. _Shit_. Instead of jerking away, Bruce _moaned_.

Oh.

 _Oh_.

Narrowing her eyes, Jay gently ran her teeth over the tip of him. He gently bucked his hips, his fingers tightening in her hair ever so slightly. She nibbled at his cock, watching as the most amazing expression crossed his face.

Something stirred in her belly. Something warm and wet and powerful. She pressed her thighs tighter together, shifting instinctively.

Jay realized she wanted to see that look again. She wanted to see it a lot. She’d never cared, one way or the other, about how much her clients enjoyed her services. Only that they got what they paid for and abided by the rules. She’d never left a client unsatisfied. But this… she wanted to see that blissful expression on Bruce’s face again and again and _again_.

It made the hurt a little more painful, knowing that she wouldn’t get to. But she still had now.

She set to work, taunting him with the edge of her teeth and flirting with the back of her throat. 

Noises she’d never heard him make spilled from his lips. Jay realised that she had the most powerful man in Gotham in front of her. The head of the oldest family. The Prince of the City and the Dark Knight. And she was pulling his strings. 

Every sound he voiced was a direct reaction so something that she did. Every movement he made pulled from him by her lips and tongue and teeth and _why was she so warm?_

The hand in her hair was still gentle. Never pushing. Never pulling. Her eyes stung and she didn’t know why. 

She felt him contract and knew what was coming as he gently tried to pull her off. But she _wanted_ it. For the first time. Wanted to finish this properly.

“ _Jay!_ ” 

He called her name and tensed. With a sharp inhale, she took all of him she could as he spilled into her throat. The taste of him flooded her senses and she swallowed him down.

Bruce panted above her and Jay lapped at him, cleaning him as he softened. When he caught his breath, he cupped her face and murmured, “My turn.”

“What-?”

He interrupted her, picking her up easily from her spot on her knees and she grabbed at his arms. 

“Bruce?” 

“I got you, Jay.” The gravel in his voice unexpectedly sent shivers down her spine. He set her down on the edge of the table and his lips descended on hers.

She gasped in surprise and he licked into her mouth, like he was chasing the taste of himself. Fingers toyed with the sequined bra, tracing the edges and the patterned Robin _**R**_ over her nipple. It twinged as it hardened from the touch. For once, Jay found herself impatient to have it _off_. She pressed into his hand, feeling the heat of it through the thin fabric. 

Hands moved, skating around her sides and she whimpered at the loss. _Where did that come from?_ She never made noises like that when working. Not _real_ ones. What was Bruce doing to her? She didn’t understand.

“Shh, baby girl. I’ve got you.” A moment and the pressure was gone as Bruce pulled the straps of the lingerie off her arms. “Trust me to take care of you.” His hands were on her breasts, flesh on flesh, and so _warm_. No one’s touch had ever felt like this. Lips kissed her neck as he rolled her nipples, hard to his touch and _aching_.

His mouth lowered to pull one in — hot and wet and felt so good — and she stifled a cry. All thoughts of anything but him, how he felt, fled. 

“No, Jay,” He chided, she could feel his breath against her breast, “Let me hear you, sweetheart.”

He nipped at her and her nails dug into her palms as she moaned. Bruce hummed in appreciation and his hands moved lower, fingers brushing against the emerald satin of her panties. 

“Good girl, Jay.” Bruce murmured as she spread her thighs for him. The words sent a thrill down her spine. God, she _wanted_ to be good for him. That’s all she had wanted. The whole reason she had walked back into this club after five years was for him and this damn case. She’d give up everything to be good for him. Had given up everything.

One palm settled on her inner thigh while his thumb dipped under the satin and stroked along her seam. She jerked and gasped, surprised at how sensitive she was, how good it felt, _how much she wanted him to do it again_.

He found her clit and _pressed_ , moving his thumb in a slow circle. Her hips jerked and she whimpered and clutched at Bruce, tried to gain her sense back but he didn’t give her the chance. 

In moments he had her rocking into his hand. She lost all sense of coherence as she strained for more. More pressure, more speed, just _more_. But he kept his touch teasing. Light. Just enough. Not enough. Never. No one’s touch had ever made her feel like this. She didn’t even know she could feel this way. 

Jay grasped his shirt in desperation. 

“I’ve got you, baby girl. Trust me.” 

With her life. With everything.

His hand withdrew and she protested weakly, trembling. “ _Bruce_.” 

But he just chuckled low in her ear and told her to lift her hips. Calloused palms slid down her hips, taking her panties with them.

“Lean back, Jay.”

“What?”

Bruce kissed her deeply, moving his lips down her neck and to her hard nipples. Then, he knelt and buried his face between her thighs.

Jay arched up in surprise and keened. Her hands scrambled for purchase as she leaned back and into his mouth, knocking over empty glasses from the last occupants of the room as she did so but she didn’t — couldn’t — care.

Oh. Oh god! Was this — She moaned Bruce’s name as he licked up slit, swirling his tongue around her clit.

Was this what everyone was always going on about? Was this why men always had her on her knees?

He did something with his tongue and Jay saw stars.

She couldn’t move, could barely breathe for the feel of it. The feel of him. His tongue, his teeth, his lips. Waves of unfamiliar sensation washed over her, taking her higher and higher until she crashed down around them with his name bitten into her tongue. 

Bruce rose from the floor and stepped between her legs as she panted and regained her senses. He gathered her to him, trapping her arms between them, and kissed her. Jay could taste herself on his tongue and a part of her marvelled at the experience as she kissed him back. 

His renewed erection pressed against her slick core. 

Slowly — so very slowly — he slid into her.

She pressed her face into his neck and tangled her fingers into his shirt as he bottomed out. She stretched around him, almost _almost_ too much to take, but it didn’t hurt. She was well prepared. Better prepared than she had ever been.

Jay had never felt so full.

She shuddered.

Bruce kissed her hair and rolled his hips, sliding out of her before thrusting back in. She whimpered against his throat.

“Good girl, Jay.” He praised, running hands up her back, over heated skin. “My precious baby girl. I’ve got you.”

He rocked into her languidly as he whispered in her ear, “Love you, my Jay. Love everything about you. You’ve always been the best of us.”

The backs of her eyes burned again and that wave started to build.

“Love your passion and your fire. How you fight with me about what you think is right.” He punctuated his statement with a harder thrust, kissing her ear as she moaned and wriggled against him but never speeding up.

“Love listening to you practice your Shakespeare in the Library when you think no one can hear you. I could listen to you quote MacBeth all day.”

She could hear the slick sound of him, feel him moving in her. ~~She’d never been so wet in her life.~~ That same maddeningly slow pace. She strained against him. Needing more, needing — 

“I love how eager you are to put me on my ass in training.”

Needing Bruce to shut up! She can’t hear this! She-she can’t! She’s not that—not something precious like that—like he’s saying she’s… tainted. Unworthy! She’s not enough. She’s… Something cracked in her chest. Everything she’d been holding back, all the pain and fear and _love_ she’d been burying overwhelmed her in a wave. 

She trembled and hid her face in his shoulder as her tears broke through. 

Bruce rocked into her, murmuring everything he loved about her into her hair. She turned her face to look up at him and he kissed her gently. It was achingly sweet and full of everything he had been telling her. She pulled her mouth away and pressed her forehead to his neck as he kept. fucking. into. her.

 _This wasn’t the plan._ Jay thought desperately as she hid her tears in his shirt. He was supposed to realize he didn’t want her, not convince her that he loved her. Yet with every word coming out of his mouth she knew. With every touch, he showed her. 

And she loved him back so much.

The slow glide of him inside her was driving her mad. He dragged along every sensitive point that she must have.

A word built in the back of her throat, heavy in her mouth. It wanted out. Demanded attention. 

“B-br—” The name didn’t feel right, didn’t taste right on her tongue. It wasn’t what she wanted to say. “D—” 

No, she couldn’t! She—

“It’s alright.” Bruce crooned, lips pressing gently to her ear as he rolled his hips again. “You can say it, baby girl. You can say it.”

“ _Daddy_.” She sobbed against his throat, overcome.

“That’s my good girl.” 

“Daddy, please. _Please_.” Jay cried, holding onto his shirt, hips straining to meet him but she couldn’t maneuver. He held her tight to his chest. 

“I got you, baby.” Bruce snapped his hips into her, moving a little faster and a little deeper and Jay could only take it, swept away by the feeling of it — of him. By the emotions within her and the love he gave her.

The waves from earlier were crashing over her again and she was helpless against them. She clenched down on him and sobbed in his neck as they crested again.

“ _Daddy_.”

She lost herself in him.

When she came back, Bruce was gently wiping her tears with his thumbs and telling her how good she was. How beautiful. How perfect. He had pulled her favorite robe — one she’d stolen from him ages ago — from somewhere and wrapped her in it. 

Jay shook her head and buried her face in his shoulder. It was too much. Overwhelming. She felt him kiss her hair. A moment later, she clutched at him as he picked her up again.

“I’ve got you.” He soothed, his deep voice vibrating from his chest. It was comforting. “Dick messaged. The bust went perfect.”

Great. Wonderful. What did that mean?

“I’m taking you home, baby girl.”

She shook her head, tried to move. “ _Nickolai…_ ” 

Bruce growled, “Will be arrested in about twenty minutes for drug trafficking, prostitution, and a host of different child abuse charges.”

“B?”

“Oh, Jay. You didn’t think we were going to let it go, did you?” She felt him brush her cheek. “We were already looking but the last few days, we found a few girls willing to testify. Including the three you sent us last night.”

“But-”

“Let’s get you home, sweetheart.” He murmured. “We can talk about it later.”

She should have fought with him about it… at least a little more, but she didn’t want to. She was warm and wrapped in Bruce’s arms and he was taking her _home_. She… she was his. Everything else could be worked out later.

Jay closed her eyes and surrendered. 

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Blurb Masterlist](https://primeemeraldheiress.tumblr.com/post/188844689355/emerald-blurb-masterlist) on Tumblr for writing that doesn’t make it to AO3!


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